


Sugar

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Bad Daddy Argent [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Barebacking, Biker Chris, Chris Argent has a big dick, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Leather Kink, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: He chuckles, crowding closer, forcing her thighs wider apart to suck and nip at her neck. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when Allison’s not in the room, Stiles. I know you’ve wanted me to take you apart, show you how good you can feel. You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmurs. “I’m not too scared of your daddy to give you what you want.”





	Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Triangulum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TRIANGULUM! I hope it's a good one for you! I offer you the dirtybadwrong Stargent fic to make your day special! 
> 
> Quick note for anyone worried about the underage tag--Stiles is 17, which is over the legal age of consent in my country, but might not be for yours. Basically, YMMV, I tagged just in case. 
> 
> This thing basically wrote itself, because my brain is frolicking in the dumpster apparently. Happy Friday!

 

 

Stiles doesn’t know how she got here. Oh, she remembers how she physically wound up in Chris Argent’s bathroom—the snarls from the feral omega in the Preserve are still ringing in her ears, along with the sound of Chris’s bike as she clung to him while he gunned the engine to get them out of there—but not _here_ , with Allison’s dad staring at her hungrily as he insists on peeling her out of her clothes.

“I’m okay, Mr. Argent, promise.” She doesn’t try to push his hands away as he rolls her undershirt off.

He shakes his head. “You have a habit of saying you’re fine when you’re anything but, Stiles. And if you think I didn’t notice you shaking, you’re wrong.”

She can’t tell him it’s because pressing up against his warm, strong back with the smell of leather in her nose and the vibrations of the bike between her thighs made her soak her panties. No matter how many fantasies she’s had of him, he’s still her friend’s dad. “I’m just shaken up. Not hurt.”

He gives her a flat look as he crouches to unbutton and unzip her jeans. “Excuse me for wanting to make sure the Sheriff’s daughter is really as alright as she claims.”

Her breath hitches as his hands—warm and broad and gun-callused—slide down her thighs, pushing her jeans to her ankles. He gives her a sharp look before tapping her right foot. She looks up at the ceiling and decides to go with it. He can see for himself that she’s alright, and then she can go home and come to the memory of this.

She lifts her foot, and lets him pull her jeans off one leg, and then the other. She’s in nothing but her bra, panties, and socks now. “Satisfied?” she asks sarcastically.

He looks up at her, and stares as he stands. She has to look up at him, and is suddenly very aware of the fact that she’s nearly naked, and he’s still clothed, that he hasn’t even taken off his leather jacket or boots. She’s so focussed on how he’s looking at her that she startles when his hands cup her waist.

“Easy,” he rumbles, hands tracking upwards, pushing carefully. “If you’re breathing funny, you might’ve bruised a rib.”

She curses her oh-so-responsive virgin body. “I told you, I’m fine. Snarly fucker didn’t touch me.”

His big hands slide around her back, his thumbs resting just under her breasts, and she feels small in his grip. “I’ve seen how gentle Derek isn’t with you. The pack won’t always know their own strength. And you’d never tell them they’d hurt you.”

He’s right, in a general sort of way. About this situation, he couldn’t be more wrong. She tries to squirm away from him, and one of his hands winds up on her breast.

She freezes, heart rabbiting in her chest, waiting. She doesn’t know what to do.

Chris doesn’t have that problem. He just tips his head, and then slides his hand inside the cup to squeeze gently. Stiles can’t help her whine. The look he gives her is sly, and then her bra is unhooked, and he’s pulling it down her arms.

“I don’t—what’re you doing?”

He gives her a little smile as he pushes her underwear down. “I’m checking to see if I’m right. See, you say you’re fine, but I think you’ve got an ache you haven’t told me about.”

She chokes out a high-pitched noise when she feels his fingertips against her folds, slip-sliding easily through her slick. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. You achy, baby?”

She grabs the counter behind her for support as he touches her teasingly. She bites her lip and nods, not trusting herself to speak. This is wrong on so many levels.

Two thick fingers push inside, and she whimpers. “It hurts to be empty, doesn’t it? But it’s okay, sugar. I’ll make it better.”

She doesn’t know why, but something about it—the way he says it—bothers her, makes shame curl hot and prickly in her gut. “Don't call me that.”

He smirks, and pulls his fingers free. Which—she should be relieved, right? But before she can figure out how she feels, he's pushing them into her mouth. “Taste yourself, sugar. You're very sweet.”

Tangy musk and leather burst across her tongue, and she pulls her head back. “I’m not sweet, and I _said_ don’t call me that.”

Chris tuts before hoisting her onto the bathroom counter, and she yelps when her ass meets the cold tile. “But see, the thing is, _sugar_ ,” he drawls deliberately as his fingers sink back inside her, “is that you’re not in charge, here.”

He pumps lazily, nudging her g-spot, and her hips roll into it. It takes her three tries, but she eventually gasps out, “A-and you a-are?”

He grins at her, and it’s sharp, something that looks like it’d fit better on Peter’s face than his. “Since I know you’re not spreading your legs and presenting your wet cunt to anyone else, it does.”

She opens her mouth to protest—because okay, maybe she hasn’t been with anyone else like this, but that’s not the point—but before she can, he starts finger-fucking her, and he’s not gentle about it. She pitches forward, whining and gripping his shoulders. It’s good, it’s so good, but it’s riding the line of too much.

“You’re so soft inside, sugar,” he growls, and it’s—he shouldn’t know that, but it makes her clench around his fingers anyway—“Can’t wait to feel all this softness around my cock.”

She finds her voice at that, pushing away to look him in the face. “ _What_?”

His fingers slow, twisting and spreading inside her, but don’t stop. “You heard me. I’m gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna sink my cock inside your sweet little pussy.”

“What if I don’t want it?” It’s mostly a rhetorical question—she wants, god, she _wants_ , but she knows she shouldn’t, that her dad would arrest him in a heartbeat if he ever found out about this—but a small part of her, the part that isn’t all but begging for him to do just that, needs to know.

He chuckles, crowding closer, forcing her thighs wider apart to suck and nip at her neck. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when Allison’s not in the room, Stiles. I know you’ve wanted me to take you apart, show you how good you can feel. You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmurs. “I’m not too scared of your daddy to give you what you want.”

She tips her head back, groaning, and he takes it as an invitation, sucking and kissing his way down her throat. She whines when his fingers disappear, and he leans in to kiss her. Their first. She thinks this has been backwards, that she should’ve known what his stubble feels like scratching her lips before the feel of his fingers working her open, but it doesn’t bother her as much as she thinks it should.

The sound of him unzipping makes her breathless, and she can feel his grin against her lips. She pulls away, wanting to watch this part, and he shrugs out of his leather jacket. He’s left in a wife beater, and her mouth goes dry when she spots the ink sprawling over his right shoulder. But before she can appreciate it properly, he’s hauling her to the edge of the counter, and she has to catch herself on one arm.

“Hold on to me, sugar,” Chris grunts, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance.

She doesn’t even think about arguing, just throws an arm around his shoulders as he rolls forward, the tip of his cock squeezing inside with a little pop that makes her cry out. “Too much,” she chokes out. She’s never had anything inside her, doesn’t even have sex toys because no one will risk selling them to a cop’s kid, and to go from fingers to _this_ is so much. She didn’t know she was this sensitive inside.

“You’re alright, sugar.” Chris grinds forward, sinking deeper a little at a time, and it feels like she can’t breathe. She clutches at him, nails digging into his shoulder. He hisses, and she can feel his cock flex inside her. “You’re takin’ me so well, baby.”

He rolls his hips, burying himself to the hilt, and she jackknifes, thighs clamping around his waist. He groans, raspy and deep against her ear, before gripping her hips and starting to thrust. He isn’t gentle about it.

“C-Chris—” she doesn’t finish, doesn’t even know what she’d say, too overloaded. Too full, too much heat in her pelvis, too strung out on how deliciously wrong this is. She whines, jolting from the force of his thrusts. It almost hurts, but that just makes her wetter, until there’s a dirty squelching noise every time he rocks forward. “Need,” she whimpers.

He pulls her tighter against him. “You were made to take cock, sugar, takin’ it even better than Lydia did.”

It makes her clench around him, because that’s—she shouldn’t feel _proud_ of that, but she _does_ , that she’s better at something than picture-perfect Lydia, that she’s better at _this_. He laughs breathlessly. “You like that, sugar? Like knowing that your cunt’s sweeter than hers? That you’re so soft inside you put her to shame?”

She’s trembling, clinging to him so tightly her fingertips are numb and the belt loops of his jeans are rubbing her inner thighs raw, and she realizes that she’s going to come. She chokes out some wild noise she didn’t know she could make, so close it won’t take much to tip her over.

Chris notices. “You gonna be good for me and come on my cock?”

_If you keep this up, definitely_ , she thinks. She nods, rocking into his thrusts.

His grip on her hips tightens. “Come on, sugar. Be a good little fuckhole and come on my cock.”

It’s shocking and crude and she should hate it, but hearing him call her that is what sends heat flooding her body as her orgasm rips through her. She’s so dazed from the force of it that she doesn’t really register Chris coming—mostly, she notices when he stops moving, his hands releasing her hips to cradle her back.

The tenderness is strange, but not unwelcome. He kisses her softly before pulling out, and the gush that follows makes her realize he didn’t wear a condom. She has a brief moment of panic before she remembers that she’s on the pill. So probably not pregnant.

She’s broken from her thoughts by Chris’s chuckle. “Just for that, sugar, I’ll make you come in my mouth next time, before letting you come on my cock.”

If she weren’t still coming down from one earth-shattering orgasm, she’d tell him to do it now. And then her brain catches up. “Next time?”

He smirks, trailing fingertips between her lips where she’s still leaking his come. “Yeah, sugar. Next time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can also be found [here](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/).


End file.
